


i'm drunk with you (you fill me up)

by euphoricland



Category: ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Arranged Marriage, Barebacking, Butt Plugs, First Time, M/M, Marriage Consummation, Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Possessiveness, Prince Yonghoon, Very Vaguely Historical, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphoricland/pseuds/euphoricland
Summary: They’re silent for a second, now done.  Hyungu looks down at his lap, where the material of his wedding clothes pools.“You will meet the Prince tomorrow,” Dongmyeong gushes, “are you excited?”Hyungu grows a bit warm at the question, feeling nerves tighten his stomach, “I am not sure,” he mumbles, looks at the two who are looking right back at him, “I don’t even know his name.”“A mysterious man,” Dongmyeong is teasing him again.“Prince Jin Yonghoon,” Giwook says, “he’s been travelling abroad, makes sense you haven’t heard his name in the courts."
Relationships: Jin Yonghoon/Kang Hyungu | Kanghyun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	i'm drunk with you (you fill me up)

Hyungu keeps his head bowed, eyes lowered. There’s an odd feeling in his stomach, it aches, makes him uneasy.

He feels like a decoration, in his silk robes, newly discolored hair, scalp still burning.

He hears his name being mentioned, his father vaguely motions at him and the other person, sitting across from them, finally looks at him. 

He’s aging, kind eyes a deep brown, crinkling at the edges. It’s unfamiliar, his own father’s stony expression looking at him.

“Kanghyun,” he talks to him, voice low, powerful, “I trust you have liked your stay so far?”

Hyungu nods right away, eyes flickering at his father then right back at the king in front of him. 

“The palace...is beautiful,” he says, looking at the ornate molding, the shiny marble floors, “really big.”

The king’s eyes light up, Hyungu supposes he must have said the right thing.

“When you’re finally situated here, you’ll have your own wing. There’s a garden, too, I’ve heard you like flowers?” the king stops to get a response, continues when Hyungu gives him a small nod, “great.”

He stands up, his robes flow easily, not a crease out of place, “the ceremony will be in two days, for now you and your father may stay in one of our guest rooms.”

“I will not be staying,” his father says, his voice chills Hyungu, stern and rigid, cold. Hyungu looks away, eyes landing on the floor.

“Someone will be here as a representative, they will be arriving tomorrow.”

“Ah,” the king says, calling over for someone, “then, Kanghyun if you will please be escorted to your room. I am sure you will like to have some rest.”

The servant who steps forward looks young, skin pale, hair curling.

He motions for Hyungu to step forward and without a goodbye to his father, Hyungu walks away.

-

The guest room is unnecessarily lavish, drapes of satin and silk overflowing from the walls. The bedding looks softer than anything Hyungu has ever been privy to, the low table shiny, glossed over wood.

“ _Lord_ Kanghyun,” the servant boy says, interrupting his observation. Hyungu turns to look at him, surveying him, doesn’t say anything. The title does not feel rightfully his, it ties his stomach into knots of anxiety, vile starting to burn up his throat.

“Would the lord please to go down for supper?” he asks, voice small, eyes averting. Hyungu shakes his head, sighs.

“I am too tired,” he says, his voice is probably too soft, the boy tilts his head, as if to hear him better, “I just want to stay here until - until...” he stops talking but they both know what he means. The whole kingdom knows what he means.

“I can go to the kitchens, ask them to send something up.”

Hyungu nods, smiling,against himself, at the small win.

“That would be appreciated.”

The servant boy returns with a couple of other kitchen staff, putting trays down on the low dining table

“What’s your name?” Hyungu asks, eyes attentive as the servant sitting down with him keeps his eyes lowered on his own plate of food.

He doesn’t get a response right away, he thinks maybe he hasn’t been heard, but eventually the other looks at him and Hyungu takes notice of the different eye shapes.

“The Prince’s husband-to-be should not be worrying about things like this,” he says, voice hushed, “I shouldn’t really be eating here with you.”

“I asked you to,” Hyungu rushes to say, cannot bear to think about eating dinner alone, only accompanied by his thoughts, “are you not meant to listen to what your charge says?”

The young boy gives him a wide eyed look, cheeks flushing in thinly veiled embarrassment, “Yes, of course, as the Prince’s husband-to-be, I -,” he starts, babbles, then swallows nervously, ducking his head in apology, “My name is Lee Giwook,” he murmurs, “to serve you until your honorable marriage.”

Hyungu grimaces, not expecting the other to be so completely apologetic to someone as simple, _ordinary_ like him.

“S-stop that,” Hyungu flusters, hands reaching out to get Giwook to undo his bow, “I am no higher than you.”

Giwook’s eyes can’t possibly widen more, his own hands, callous and rough, reaching to move Hyungu’s hands from him.

“You are soon to be royalty,” Giwook insists, pushing Hyungu’s arms away, feigning eating, urging Hyungu to start his meal, “you will have to start behaving as such, no matter how lowly you were before all this.”

Hyungu looks at him, at the way their hands are so different, an indication of status. 

“Eat with me,” Hyungu finally says, “I do not want to be alone.”

-

The day ends and Hyungu does not get to see his future husband, he’s settled in his room to a day of heavenly luxuries. Giwook brings out lush silks, shining, lustrous, soft under his touch as he runs his fingers to the soft pastels, the bolder, exotic colors, unlike his eyes have ever seen. And then there’s the jewels, oversized precious stones, cut delicately, embedded in glinting silvers and golds. Necklaces, rings, earrings, bracelets, of all sorts of delicate chains in designs Hyungu imagines a great craftsman had taken months to perfect.

“The king asked that I bring you a bit of your soon to be collection,” Giwook explains as he begins to lay down robes along Hyungu’s bed, “for you to choose and pick from to lounge in as you spend these days waiting.”

Hyungu’s mouth goes dry, watching as glass pots and bottles of scents begin to line up the table next to them.

Giwook catches his gaze lingering, offers a smile as he opens one of them, bringing it closer to him, “these were brought from across the sea,” he explains, “others from over the mountains. The prince travelled far and wide for them.”

Hyungu grabs the bottle delicately, brings it closer to his nose, enough to catch the scent of it, a sweet, syrupy smell. It tickles his nose, he grimaces.

Giwook, laughs, taking it away from him, offering him another one, liquid clear, “maybe this one will be more to your liking, my lord.”

Hyungu begins to refute the title, but is caught off by the smell, a sweet citrus lingering on something blossoming.

“This smells a bit like home,” he says, eyes misting, mouth spreading into a soft smile, “like the summers when I was still a child.”

Giwook smiles at him, offering the cap, letting Hyungu keep a hold of the bottle.

Hyungu looks at all that has been brought in for him, eyes lingering on a deep forest green robe, silky, smooth.

“This is only a small bit?” he asks, nervous, unable to think of just how much wealth the king must really possess.

Giwook nods, reaching out to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle on one of the pieces of satin laying out for him, “after you wed, you will find the rest in your quarters. Your full collection is truly beautiful,” Giwook says, voice airy, dreamy, “exquisite and sublime.”

Giwook looks at him, a long lingering look, _judging_ , if Hyungu were to be honest, “having met you, I understand what all the trouble of obtaining every piece was for,” Hyungu feels the way heat begins to crawl up his neck, “you really are as beautiful as the rumors said.”

Hyungu blinks, looks away, at the words, he’s blushing, eyes focused on his hands, gripping the cut glass bottle tight in his fist.

“And how would your people have known if I were beautiful or not?” he musters enough voice to ask, still unable to look at the younger boy.

There’s a moment, and then a low sound from Giwook, “you may have no proper title,” Giwook starts, a harsh reality, “but you were a courtier, were you not?”

Hyungu’s gaze flickers to the other boy, waiting for him to continue.

“In your homeland,” Giwook continues, now careful, “you recited poetry for the court,” he offers a small smile, meant to be reassuring, “entertained with music.”

Hyungu nods, remembering the first time he had ever been given a chance to recite one of his poems, the way his throat had threatened to close, the slight shake of his hands as he had held on to his words. 

“The king was present during one of your recitings,” Giwook laughs, “of course the king himself didn’t tell me this,” he seems immensely amused at the idea, reaching out to take the bottle from Hyungu’s hand, “one of the maids who went to assist the royal party did. That was a couple of months ago...maybe a year.”

“Ah,” Hyungu nods, inexplicably ashamed, eyes still lowered, “I am nothing but a lowly performer then,” he says, “for some reason chosen fit for a soon to be king.”

Giwook laughs again, loud this time, braying, “and who are you to put words in an entire kingdom’s mouth?”

That startles Hyungu enough to have his gaze finally land on the other. Giwook offers him a simple, sympathetic smile, “you are marrying our prince for a reason,” he says, “you may not understand why, but I guess life has a bit of humor in it, no?”

-

Giwook leaves him a set of cotton sleeping clothes, Hyungu begins removing his lived in clothes, before the door opens again, Giwook walking in with a basin of water, oils on a golden tray.

“My lord,” he says, watching Hyungu’s face heat up, chest almost bare to him from where Hyungu had started to undress, “I’ve brought warm water and some of the scents you liked.”

“I-,” Hyungu starts, blush darkening as Giwook places the tray on his bedside dresser, rough hands continuing to undo what Hyungu had started, “my apologies for my tardiness,” he pushes the cloth away from Hyungu’s shoulder, “in helping you undress and bathe for the night.”  
The fire in his room burns in the background, Giwook’s hands occasionally grazing his bareness, nothing tender, a formality. Hyungu expects these are the kind of touches he will have to learn to accept.

“Will you like me to run a bath for you or will the basin be just fine?” Giwook asks, once Hyungu is almost down to his underclothes.

Hyungu must not answer fast enough, Giwook’s hand dropping to his wrist, pulling him towards the door of the bath chamber.

“You’ve travelled far,” he says, simple, “a bath will be best.”

The bath chamber is just as splendid as everything Hyungu has been shown. Glossy tiles of porcelain, hand painted with blues and golds, deep terracotta reds, the brightest yellows Hyungu has ever laid eyes on.

The bath begins to be filled with hot water, carried in single handedly by Giwook, steam rising lazily as it splashes against the cold porcelain.

Eventually it fills to the brim, and Giwook takes a moment to drop a couple of drops from the bottles he had brought with him. The citrus smell easing into Hyungu’s senses, chased by the sweetest, honeyed flowering smell.

“This one is the prince’s favorite,” Giwook says with a teasing smile, implying many things that Hyungu has not even begun to think about.

They stand like that for a while, Hyungu unable to ask the other to leave, mortified to have to be so completely bared for a stranger.

“I will leave you to the rest,” Giwook has mercy on him, “I will come back in a couple of minutes with your clothes and cleansing items, my lord.”  
Hyungu allows himself to listen as Giwook’s footsteps fade away before he begins to strip down, takes in a deep breath as he sinks into the hot water brought in just for him. It reaches his shoulders when he rises back up, steam urging a pink flush to his cheeks. His eyes notice the mirror, placed right in front of the bath, a jolt of shame rising in him. His hair clumps together, in bleached, coarse strings. In that moment he hates absolutely everything about himself. This must be some type of joke, he’s sure. A form of entertainment for the prince. There’s nothing worthy of a prince in him. His mouth is too small, his nose too big. There’s no harmony to save his face. His body nothing to look at, small, slim, weak. His fingers are already beginning to wrinkle, skin soft and tender. Not a day of hardwork to his name.

Shameful.

Giwook returns eventually, silently pours warm water over Hyungu’s body, fingers scrubbing in scented soap into his hair, murmuring for Hyungu to close his eyes to avoid stinging.

When it’s all said and done, he lays in his bed, under heavy covers, sleep clothes soft against his clean skin.

He tosses and turns all night.

-

“Hyungu, wake up,” someone shakes him, “it’s time to rise.”

The voice is familiar and it’s in his haze that he finally places it, eyes snapping open, sitting up to meet the familiar gaze of a knight in training.

“Byulyi,” he says, voice cracking from sleep, “father sent you?”

He can feel his sleep begin to fade away, his lips start to smile.

“I was only a day away,” Byulyi says with a grin, pushing back her short hair, “who better than me to navigate such harsh terrain?”  
She’s smiling at him and it’s the first time he feels at ease, “you will be giving me away?”

Byulyi places a hand on top of his head, a heavy pat that reminds him of his mother, “You will be an honorable husband,” she says, promises.

Giwook pushes through the doors then, balancing a tray of what he assumes must be intended to be his breakfast.

He takes one look at Byulyi, sighs as he places the tray on Hyungu’s bedside.

“I will get another serving from the kitchens,” he says, bows as he steps out.

“He’s a weird little one,” Byulyi breaks the silence, a chuckle leaves her.

Hyungu giggles with her, nods his head, “he is.”

The conversation between them flows easily, Byulyi comments on the unfamiliar breakfast spread, answers all Hyungu’s questions about the compound.

“It’s only been a couple of days,” she teases, taking a sip of her tea, “even in your father’s lack of presence training kept forward.”

Hyungu shouldn’t have expected more, his presence was probably the least missed at the compound. 

“I’m glad,” he offers a smile, looking down at the robes Giwook had dressed him in, “I won’t feel too sad being here.”

Byulyi doesn’t answer him.

“Would Lord Kanghyun like to take a stroll through the private gardens?” Giwook asks, picking up the empty plates of food, “the sun is high this day.”  
Hyungu hums in response, “Would you join us?” he asks Byulyi.

“I am afraid I cannot, _Lord Kanghyun_ ,” she answers easily, “I have a meeting with the king, pertaining to tomorrow’s ceremonies.”  
It hits Hyungu a bit too hard, the realization that he is still meant to marry off the prince. 

Byulyi leaves without much conversation.

“We should bring a parasol,” Giwook breaks the silence, “to stay cool.”

-

Hyungu only gets a glimpse of the garden, eyes trailing between flowers of different colors, smiling to himself as they near a row of trees, feels the splash of the fountain in the middle of the pond. 

The sun over them shifts, shadows casting at a different angle, but it doesn’t feel like much, before Giwook turns to look at him, expression hard to read, “We must go back inside,” he says, voice low, “there are many things to do to prepare you for tomorrow.”

“The sun is still out,” he argues, confused, “is it not too early to start preparations?”

Giwook gives him a short laugh for his troubles, “Get up my lord,” he says, “there are many things to do.”

There's a different energy now, when Hyungu enters the halls again. A frantic energy that seems to surge out of nowhere.

“Many things to do,” Giwook mumbles, bows as he passes by people Hyungu doesn’t know but thinks he should bow to as well.

Giwook opens the door to Hyungu’s sleeping quarters and ushers him inside.

“Dongmyeong will be here later,” he says, “I’ll carry in a bath and the scent you liked...I think the prince will like it too.”

Hyungu doesn’t get much time to say anything before Giwook turns and leaves, heavy door closing loudly, making Hyungu flinch.

He stands there, dumbly, unsure. The moment of silence does nothing but let him start thinking again. He’s never felt so _wrong_. Something heavy settles at the base of his throat, a thick feeling, it makes it hard to breathe. He looks around again, at all the luxurious cloth hanging from the walls, the fine, delicate tea cups sitting on the low table, ready to be filled. The intricate designs the rich colors around him.

The door opens again, Giwook carrying the bucket of water. His cheeks are tainted pink from his effort and Hyungu goes forwards, arms out to help.

“Here,” he says, fingers wrapping over the handle.

Giwook shoos him away, eyes widening.

“No,” he says, taking the bucket back, walking to the bathtub, “undress.”

Hyungu walks into the room, eyes landing again on the magnificent tub, “is it heavy?”

Giwook looks at him as the last drops fall into the bathtub.

“Yes,” he says and Hyungu can see where his fingers are dented with the angry red line of the thin metal handle.

“Undress,” Giwook says again as he turns around, out of Hyungu’s quarters.

Hyungu sits at the edge, watches as the Giwook fills the tub, stream curling over the surface of the water.

“Undress,” Giwook says again, once the tub is full and he’s carrying in a tray of small glass bottles.

Hyungu starts with his top, fingers undoing the knots as Giwook drops scents into the bath water. The same citrus smell Hyungu had liked, downplayed heavily by the sweet syrupy smell from last time.

He wants to ask but his words are not forming so he swallows the question, blinks rapidly when Giwook’s small hands push his aside and starts to undo his clothes faster.

Giwook looks away when Hyungu’s face grows too hot with his bareness. From the mirror surface on the wall he can see he’s closed his eyes and Hyungu tries to be quick when he enters the bath, dropping his body under water, submerging under.

When he breaks through the surface again Giwook is looking at him, small basin in his hand. He scoops up water, pours it gently over Hyungu’s head.

They sit in silence as Giwook washes Hyungu’s hair, rinsing off the soap, running water down his face, the back of his neck.

There’s an awkward feeling settling between them and Hyungu opens his eyes to look at him. The water stings his eyes but he catches the small blush rising to Giwook’s cheeks, the way the red creeps to his ears.

“You have to prepare yourself for his highness,” he says quietly, “make sure you are _ready_.”

The implication, the stress of the word, hits Hyungu, a wave of panic he had been doing so well in repressing.

“I won’t do it,” Giwook rushes to say when Hyungu’s eyes dart, like an animal, caged, “I’ll step out, find Dongmyeong,” he pauses, stands up, the basin falls into the water, floats around Hyungu, “I’ll bring Dongmyeong in an hour.”

He leaves and Hyungu is left alone to soak. The water is turning cold and the feeling of shame rises through him. Goosebumps break over his skin, when he thinks about it, about getting clean.

He knew the custom, but had thought that the Prince would not want to do something like that, with someone below his class, _someone like him_.

Water sloshes around him as he moves, unsure, but restless. He knew more or less what to expect, his father, not one to be embarrassed, had hired a woman to explain to him the basics, show him things that Hyungu had turned bright red with. She had been older and kind, used to court life. Although the things they had talked about were _scandalous_ , Hyungu had been grateful he would not be caught off guard, not give his father another reason to be ashamed of him.

Hyungu figures this is what his life is going to be like, doing things like this, alone, no say. He looks around and his eyes land on the tray Giwook had left behind. There’s the two small glass bottles he had seen the younger boy had used to scent the bath. But there’s more things there now, the tray a lot more crowded than before. A small pot of what Hyungu is sure must be oil. Next to it a small porcelain knob. The gloss of it shines with the low light of the lanterns, Hyungu can make out the gold accents on it. The bulb shape of it makes his neck heat up, a flush that rises up his cheeks and to the tip of his ears. He knows what it’s meant for. He slides across the water, fingers curling at the edge of the tub where the tray lays. He opens the lid of the pot, the metal of it dings with the shake of his fingers. The oil inside glistens and when he dips his fingers it coats them easily. He watches as the excess drips from them, back into the pot.

The water around him is still warm, but he knows he has to to get out. In the orange glow of the lanterns his body shivers, goosebumps raising as he sits on the edge. The mirror on the wall is unforgiving and Hyungu stares at his bare body, the way he’s spread his legs apart. He looks away when he takes in a breath, oily fingers trying to reach between his legs. The angle is bad and the cold surface of the bath edge digs into his skin. 

“The bed,” he says to himself. Drops back into the bath. Water splashes as he stands, hands reaching for the pot of oil, the porcelain bulb. Hyungu looks at it more carefully. At the blossoms stained into the icy white of it, the lines of gold that run sporadically over them. It’s such a beautiful piece, shades of lavender and a blush pink. It feels almost a shame to think about what it’s meant to be used for. 

His bed feels unwelcoming now, as the flames in the fireplace crackle. He opens the pot again, he coats his fingers again and thinks about it. He raises his legs, pillows helping with the angle as he blindly searches for his target. 

He shudders when his finger traces over the pucker of his hole. The oil feels slick against the back of his thighs, where it drips from his stillness.

It’s hard. Hyungu closes his eyes shut, pushes until his finger finally breaches him. It’s a foreign feeling. He already feels full, isn’t sure how he’s supposed to move it, how he’s supposed to add another, put that _thing_ inside of himself.

He stays like that for a second, lets his breathing get back to normal before he tries to move again. His stomach feels tight, it’s uncomfortable and he’s not sure he’s doing it well. He pulls his finger out a bit, just to see if he can move it and then pushes back in. He does this for a while, until he thinks he’s used to the feeling. He’s not really sure how he’ll know he’s ready for another finger but he figures he doesn’t have much time before Giwook enters, with _Dongmyeong_. He pulls out, just halfway and positions a second finger at his entrance. It feels like an impossible stretch when the second finger slips in. It’s a tight fit and it becomes harder to move them. Hyungu waits. He feels stupid. His position isn’t flattering at all. The bed clothes are all wet from where he neglected drying himself, dragging bath water with his body. He keeps his fingers still, pushing the second one deeper centimeter by centimeter. Until they’re both flushed together and he feels like his stomach is undoing itself. It’s tentative, and not much. He tries to spread them apart but it feels like too much. His eyes go to the bulb again and with his free hand he reaches for the pot again. He’s clumsy with his movements as he grabs the porcelain object, oil dripping everywhere, slippery. He manages to slather it as best as he can with one hand, fingers tight on the flare of it. 

In his hand it feels heavy, it’s not too big, just a bit bigger than his two fingers. He figures if he could fit those in, he can fit this. The curve of it is thin, tapering and then flaring again where there’s some characters that he recognizes as initials. _Claimed_. 

Hyungu winces when he pulls his fingers out, bites his tongue when the cool tip of the porcelain touches where his fingers have been.

It surprises him a bit how easy it goes in, he figures the stretch is still new, not much waiting in between. It slips in and he heats up in shame when he feels himself clench around it. He sits up tentatively. It moves inside him but does nothing else. He gets up, looks at the mess he’s made with the oil and wet sheets. Hyungu will have to clean up fast, before Giwook returns. 

-

He holds on tight to his robe when the door opens. Giwook’s eyes search and land on him. He must deem Hyungu presentable enough to open the door fully, letting in another boy, pulling in a rack of the most beautiful clothing Hyungu has seen. 

He pushes the rack until they are in front of Hyungu and leaves for the hallway again, this time bringing in a cart full of vials and pots, glittering silvery combs and accessories. 

“Have you been waiting, your _highness_?” the boy says once he turns away from the cart. 

“Not yet, Dongmyeong,” Giwook gently chastises and Dongmyeong laughs.

“It’s only a few hours, what harm is there to call him your highness now?”

Giwook laughs and Hyungu feels once again like he’s not really there. Then eyes turn to look at him again and he shrinks himself into his robe.

“The Prince has sent a couple of options he has personally approved. He has a favorite but made it very clear to me that you are to pick whichever one you fancy,” Dongmyeong motions to the rack again, where robes of deep burgundy red and gold embroidery hang. 

“Which one did he choose?” Hyungu asks, thinks that’s the best, the easiest way to go.

“I can’t tell you,” Dongmyeong sing songs, lips spreading into a wide teasing smile, “he made me promise not to.”

Hyungu frowns, eyes flitting to Giwook who gives him a small shrug.

“Go ahead and look,” Dongmyeong says, “pick your favorite and I’ll help you dress.”

Hyungu walks to the clothing, fingers reaching out to touch the silken surface of a black sash, fingernails catching at the embroidery. 

He lifts one off tentatively, watches as the end of if flows, hits the ground. It’s heavy in his hands, the material stiff.

They’re all the same colors, different designs painstakingly dotting along the sleeves, the hem, the wide stretches of cloth of the petticoat. 

He looks through them, until he reaches one with more gold on it. Little, delicate petals, flowers, etched onto the dark burgundy, going up in a flurry, stretching to the wideness of the sleeves. 

The flowers call out to him, in their dainty existence, stitched on for one use only, an afterthought to the real spectacle.

“This one,” he says quietly, takes a step back.

“That’s the Prince’s favorite,” Dongmyeong is quick to say, wide grin back, eyes glinting playfully, “already thinking alike.”

Hyungu is taken aback, not sure if Dongmyeong is playing around with him.

“He had that commissioned months ago,” he keeps talking.

“Dongmyeong,” Giwook hisses, eyes sharp, “ _hush_.”

“Alright, alright,” Dongmyeong waves a dismissive hand, walks towards Hyungu, pulls out the one he’s chosen.

“This one, your highness?” he asks again, as if giving Hyungu a way out.

Hyungu nods, dumbly, as Giwook takes away the rest, gives them more space.

“Are you covered?” Dongmyeong asks, eyes pointily at where Hyungu’s bare skin shows. 

He nods, stiff, blushing.

“I’m glad I am allowed at least that,” Hyungu mumbles and Dongmyeong giggles.

“Yes, Giwook said you were a shy one,” Dongmyeong lays the outfit on the bed (where Hyungu had changed the sheets), hands reaching to Hyungu’s robe.

“Undress,” he says, fingers pushing the material away from Hyungu’s shoulders.

It takes them a while. Hyungu starts to understand why Giwook had been so insistent. Between the bath, the _preparing_ , the dressing, the sun has started to set.

It takes time with all the layers. Dongmyeong makes all the knots tight, jostles Hyungu around, until everything is snug around him and he feels like he’s drowning in all the silk and embroidery. The skirts, billowing away from his legs, the tight feeling of all the ribbons, strings, fastenings, digging into his skin. It only serves to remind him what he’s there for.

He’s quiet as they dress him, offers one word answers to the curious questions Dongmyeong gives him. 

After what feels like an eternity Dongmyeong lets him go.

“Done,” he says, happily, “Giwook will bring you dinner and then we’ll continue with the rest,” he pauses, lips pursed, “do you want to see yourself?”

Hyungu doesn’t answer, Dongmyeong goes to the mirror Hyungu has hidden in a corner, pulls it along until Hyungu has to look at himself in the reflection.

The deep red contrasts almost too starkly with his skin, the black accents, the gold embroidery feel too rich, too decadent to be draped over his body.

“Your hair is longer than I thought,” Dongmyeong says, finger running through the air dried strands, “and discolored!”

Giwook enters again before Hyungu can entertain the conversation.

Dinner is soup, a clear broth and tea. 

“We will be staying up all night,” Giwook says, “drink the tea for energy.”

“You can take a nap,” Dongmyeong mock whispers, “just sitting very carefully.”

Hyungu eats quickly, careful not to spill a drop, Giwook ladles on a second helping and Hyungu can’t do anything but eat it as well.

Eventually the tray gets taken away and Dongmyeong pushes him onto a chair.

He takes a moment and then reaches for the combs, the silver headpiece.

“Your hair will make this easier,” Dongmyeong smiles, “Giwook bring me a basin of warm water.”

Hyungu huffs when Dongmyeong runs the comb through his hair, pulling against the knots, the warm water turning cold as it drips against his neck.

Dongmyeong pulls his hair tight, sharp and assertive like everything he has been with Hyungu so far. 

He doesn’t apologize, but it doesn’t feel mean, more about efficiency.

The teeth of the combs rake against his scalp unpleasantly, it makes his nerves spark. His mood is souring with all the picking and prodding.

“There,” Dongmyeong says once he’s dug the headpiece onto Hyungu’s hair, “pretty,” he says, a statement.

Hyungu’s eyes look at the mirror. His hair is pulled up, tight and slicked, it makes the skin around his eyes and forehead feel tense, stretched.

The piece on top of his head is as intricate and as beautiful as all the jewelry Giwook had shown him the night before, more heavy in its meaning.

He doesn’t get much time to dwell before Dongmyeong brings forward the pots of paints and pigments. 

And then the poking becomes worse. He has to hold still as Dongmyeong rubs and dabs on his face. Again his hands are not kind, efficient, certain as they paint Hyungu whichever way they please.

His skin feels heavy with Dongmyeong’s ministrations and his frustration worsens, knee bouncing, fingers digging into the armrest.

It’s grown darker now, Hyungu can still hear the talk from outside, the hurried movements. He swallows, closes his eyes.

“The prince will definitely be pleased,” Dongmyeong says when he finally steps away and Hyungu can look at his face. His skin looks impossibly smooth, lips and cheeks tinted a gentle pink. With his hair up he looks so much unlike himself, he can almost pretend it’s not him in the reflection. Used to his dirtied face, sweaty hair from days spent under the sun training.

“Do you want more tea?” Giwook offers, motioning to the teapot he’s brought in. 

Hyungu shakes his head but a warm cup still finds itself in his hand. 

They’re silent for a second, now done. Hyungu looks down at his lap, where the material of his wedding clothes pools.

“You will meet the Prince tomorrow,” Dongmyeong gushes, “are you excited?”

Hyungu grows a bit warm at the question, feeling nerves tighten his stomach, “I am not sure,” he mumbles, looks at the two who are looking right back at him, “I don’t even know his name.”

“A mysterious man,” Dongmyeong is teasing him again.

“Prince Jin Yonghoon,” Giwook says, “he’s been travelling abroad, makes sense you haven’t heard his name in the courts.”

Hyungu has to look away, back at the floor when he realizes what the initials in the porcelain instrument had been. _JYH_.

“Ah, a traveller?” he wonders out loud, tries to push away the thoughts of what he had to do hours before, what he is expected to do hours from now.

“Yes,” Dongmyeong says with a laugh, smiling, “he’s only settling down now for you.”

“Settling?” Hyungu questions.

“Yes,” Dongmyeong’s voice is bubbling with amusement, “you’ve brought back our precious prince to the kingdom,” he pauses, dramatic, “for that we will be forever thankful, Prince Kanghyun.”

He’s just met the younger but Hyungu is starting to suspect most of what he says is him teasing and joking. But the words feel strange to him, again aimed at him. It feels misplaced, like he's being forced into a scenery where he’s too simple not to stand out.

“I -,” Hyungu starts, stops, shakes his head, starts again, “what does he look like?”

Dongmyeong grins at him, Hyungu feels like he’s walked into a trap.

“Handsome,” Dongmyeong says at the same time Giwook offers his own answer.

“Too tall.”

The two look at each other, Hyungu watches as smiles spread softly on their lips, makes him think about the two of them together.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Dongmyeong turns to look back at him, “his ego is already too big, he won’t let me live it down if he knows I said something so nice.”

Hyungu startles at the familiarity they speak of with the prince. Giwook laughs at Dongmyeong’s words, Hyungu’s reaction.

“But he really is handsome,” he smiles, “he’s as nice as he is handsome.”

-  
Hyungu eventually falls asleep, he’s not sure when but he wakes up when he hears footsteps, feels the way the room begins to light up with new flames in the fireplace.

“Touch ups,” Dongmyeong says quietly, hand going to rustle Hyungu’s shoulder, “Giwook and I will help you in the bath chamber.”

He can hear the curtains being pulled and then the faint light of a slowly lightening sky.

It’s not long before he is seated again and Giwook returns with a bowl of soup. Dongmyeong makes a displeased sound, hands already working on fixing Hyungu’s face, stray hairs.

“Sorry,” Giwook apologizes at Dongmyeong’s hard look, “the kitchens are a mess.”

“Eat up, your highness,” Dongmyeong says, a sigh, “try not to pull your face too much.”  
While he eats, dainty silver spoon in his hand, Dongmyeong combs back out of place hairs, thin teeth of the comb once again igniting Hyungu’s nerves.

There’s a knock just seconds after Dongmyeong deems Hyungu perfect.

“It’s time,” Giwook says. 

The sky out the window is now a bright blue, sun up high.

“First the procession,” Giwook reaches for Hyungu’s footwear, “you are allowed to wave if you’d like.”

-

Hyungu sits rigidly still, the canopy covers the sun, Giwook still fusses over him. It’s ornate, like everything else draped over Hyungu’s body, glossy wood, gold accents, red ribbons. The cushions under him are soft. He folds into himself, quiet.

He smiles when he sees Byulyi take her place next to him. From the small opening he can see her, and when they meet eyes she smiles back at him, quick, before her posture changes and she’s looking at head, focused.

He feels sick when the guards pick him up, Giwook stands next to them, Hyungu can see him, too, from the little windows. 

Up ahead he can see the box that carries Prince Jin Yonghoon. He had not been able to get a glance of him, already inside by the time Giwook and the guards had escorted him to his place.

There’s all kinds of people walking with them, Hyungu has no idea who they are or what their titles are but they all bow deeply at him when they see him and all he can do is offer a tight lipped smile.

The procession starts not much after Hyungu is raised up and he feels strange as soon as they leave the castle walls, and the first couple of villagers start to join the procession. There’s a young mother with a baby on her hip, a small child holding on to her hand. Hyungu smiles and waves at the small girl.

She smiles back and Hyungu watches as she leaves her mother’s hand, her own little fist holding out a wilting wildflower out. She can’t keep up with the guards, and Hyungu watches as Giwook slows down, takes the flower from her and picks up his pace again. The flower gets pushed into his hand and when he turns to look back at them the little girl keeps waving, smile happy.

The stem of it is crushed and bruised, the small blossom bent in half but Hyungu holds on to it in one hand.

Soon the thin crowd of villagers bursts into crowds, all waiting at the edge of the road, waving, asking for his attention. Wanting to see who the Prince’s soon to be husband is, what he looks like.

Hyungu tries to wave to as many people as possible, tries to smile like he’s been told to do by the ladies who had briefly trained him before he was sent here. 

His face is hurting, his body sore from not moving. 

Somewhere along the trek confetti is set off, delicate paper and flower petals and Hyungu watches as the crowd begins to become more joyous. 

Small gifts start to populate his lap, dying flowers, beaded bracelets, drawings of what children thought he would look like. He smiles as Giwook keeps bringing the small offerings from the kingdom’s children, waves and nods as they keep walking.

He looks ahead where he hears a loud commotion, he watches as a guard picks up a child and places him inside with the prince.

The crowd reacts happily, the mother, bowing towards the prince, they take a couple of steps forward and then he watches as long arms reach out, fabric draping as they bring the child to a guard.

It’s the first thing he has seen of his soon to be husband, arms carefully, trying to bring a child back to his mother. 

The boy clutches a flower in his own tiny hand, a long stemmed gladiolus and Hyungu realizes he has his own bucket of freshly cut flowers with him. 

He reaches for one, looks at the skinny petals of the chrysanthemum. 

“Giwook,” he calls just loud enough and Giwook walks up far enough to look up at him.

“Give this to one of the children,” he says.

Hyungu is generous with his flowers, no child approaches him, not like Prince Jin Yonghoon who seems to be having his attention fought over.

He figures it makes sense, they don’t know him, he is new to the kingdom. Hyungu isn’t sure he would be able to deal with even more attention.

They parade through all the kingdom.

Hyungu gets to learn just how large the kingdom is, as they go through the marketplace, up mountains and grassy terrains. Into neighborhoods that appear more out of place than necessary. Even into the woods where the people dress up in their hunting gear and shoot rows of ceremonial arrows into the hills.

Hyungu watches as people present him with dances, songs, gifts, offerings. He smiles at them but doesn’t do much else, seems like Prince Jin Yonghoon is thanking them for both of them.

The afternoon sun starts to set once they start their way back to the castle walls. The bright orange glow tints the houses, the stands, the faces of the people who are still clamoring to get a peek at him. He tries his best to not hide, looking out the opening, arm now hurting from all the waving.

-

The heavy doors close behind them and Giwook rushes to usher him back to his quarters.

“We don’t have much time before the ceremony starts,” Giwook says as Dongmyeong enters, hands already going to fix what the sun and air had misplaced in his makeup and hair.

“Prince Yonghoon is waiting for you already, with everyone.” 

The sky is an ink dark when they push along the gardens, back into the castle where the giant feast hall awaits him.

It all becomes a giant motion blur, his nerves eat at him and he can’t focus, trying hard not to faint or do anything embarrassing.

He sees Byulyi first when he’s pulled onto the altar. Her sharp eyes find his gaze and for a split second he feels not so alone.

Then he’s made to face away and it’s met with the most _beautiful_ man he has ever seen.

His expression is nervous, it’s hard not to notice the shifting eyes, the way his muscles tense. But when they meet eyes his lips spread into a wide, pretty smile, perfect teeth on display. Hyungu can’t smile back, all he can do is stare, his heart is definitely beating faster as he takes into account eye lines curving so _prettily_ , mouth a soft petal pink, lovely upturned corners, a royal nose.

And he’s _tall_. 

_Too tall_ , his mind remembers stupidly.

Familiar hands push him down to his knees and he watches as the prince lowers himself down as well. He’s wearing matching wedding robes, Hyungu’s brain blares at him, black and deep burgundy, gold embroidery. Even with his folded legs his figure looms large and Hyungu’s eyes keep on him as they bow to each other.

When they get up they're allowed to finally come together, Hyungu bites down the inside of his cheek when the prince’s hand reaches out and takes his own.

Prince Jin Yonghoon’s hand is large, warm and dry and engulfs Hyungu’s completely.

He doesn’t really listen to the words, so caught up in the prince’s presence. He says what is expected of him, what he’s practiced, when it’s finally time to bind himself to the prince, to the kingdom, and then is startled when the prince leans down and kisses his cheek.

The hall erupts in celebration and then an arm on his waist holds him up, pulls him to his feet and keeps him close to the Prince’s side.

They break into a feast, a happy celebration, people mill around, and Hyungu finds himself with no appetite, still held tight to the Prince. 

People go up to them, people who now bow to him, congratulate them, variations of _what a pretty husband you’ve got._

Hyungu’s not sure who they are talking to, but he stays quiet. Until there’s an air of expectation and then Prince Jin Yonghoon announces their departure. 

Giwook finds him again and there’s a lump in his throat when they go down a different pathway.

“Is it…” he can't finish the sentence but Giwook nods.

The wedding chamber is sunken in, the bed in the middle is large, covered in silken red bed clothes, lace hanging from the frame of it. It’s a large open space and he realizes then that there’s places for people to watch.

He shivers when Giwook reaches to undo his robes, without Dongmyeong it takes longer. Giwook sighs, exasperated, when the knots Dongmyeong has tied become too difficult. Hyungu, in his nervous energy tries to help and together they get him to climb out of his wedding skirts, and then before he’s completely bare, is allowed to go into the bath chamber, where another robe awaits him, just enough to cover his body, decorated in flowers, delicate lace trimming, sheer.

Giwook takes off his headpiece when he enters. Hyungu’s scalp aches and his hair falls over his eyes, strands tickling the nape of his neck, soft from the oils Dongmyeong had used.

“They’re here,” Giwook whispers, for him only, “they’ll watch for a bit, then leave.”

And then Giwook steps away. 

In the glow of the fire, the shadows hide the eyes on him but he can feel them, as he stands awkwardly by the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t wait long before the door opens again and when he looks up from the floor he sees Prince Jin Yonghoon again. 

They’re alone, or at least as alone as they have ever been since their marriage.

The prince is wearing a robe of his own, something heavier, made of silk. It accentuates the wide lines of his shoulders, dragging across the floor as he walks closer.

His breath skips when a hand reaches for his face, gently cupping his cheek.

The prince smiles at him and Hyungu can’t do anything but blush, look away.

“ _Pretty_ ,” Prince Jin Yonghoon says, thumb caressing where the blush gathers, “did you wait long?”

Hyungu shakes his head, with the prince’s expectant eyes he knows he needs to speak, “no, your highness.”

“ _Yonghoon_ ,” the prince says, laughs at Hyungu’s expression, “you are my husband and I am yours, you can call me Yonghoon.”  
“You can, you can call me Hyungu,” he says, eyes downcast.

There’s a second of silence, then the hand cupping his cheek lowers to the line of his neck, “what about if I call you mine?”

Heat rises quickly at that, he’s not sure what to say, what to do. He’s aware other people are watching him, watching them, heard what the prince has said.

 _Does he have no shame?_ Hyungu thinks frantically, too embarrassed to answer.

The prince laughs, again, a loud giggle that breaks through his thoughts.

“We have an audience,” Yonghoon says, hand dragging down to Hyungu’s shoulder, then to the ribbon tying the robe around his body, “are you nervous?”

Hyungu nods, breathes again when Yonghoon’s hand leaves him, goes to his own clothing.

“Here,” he says, and he unties his robes, easy, shameless, “I’ll go first.”

Hyungu is greeted with tanned skin, golden and smooth. The prince is wide and slim and Hyungu gets stuck on the way his waist pinches inward, before the gentle slope of the lines of thin hips. His stomach tenses and Hyungu can make out the faint ridges of muscle. He doesn’t let his eyes look _further_ , keeping them decidedly to Yonghoon’s neck.

Yonghoon reaches for his hand and places the palm of if to his chest. Hyungu spreads his fingers instinctively, feeling the warmth of Yonghoon’s skin.

“Here,” Yonghoon smiles at him, “you can touch me first.”

Hyungu doesn’t move his hand for a while, afraid of making a wrong movement, but when it seems like Yonghoon isn’t about to make a move Hyungu lets his hand skim just a bit up, the strong line of Yonghoon’s sternum and up to his collarbone. 

He bites his tongue when he feels arms wrap around him, his body crashing against the prince’s. 

Hyungu feels small, their bodies don’t match up at all and he has to tilt his body up when Yonghoon calls his name.

“Hyungu,” the prince’s voice is sweet, melodic, as if Hyungu’s name is a song, “can I kiss you?”

It feels like a dumb question, considering what they’re here to do, considering all the eyes, ears, on them.

“Are you not calling me yours?” he asks, curious.

“Am I?” Yonghoon asks back.

Hyungu nods, “by marriage, I am.”

The kiss is soft, it's the first thought that comes to Hyungu’s mind. He doesn’t get to linger much on it before the prince pulls back, smile white and perfectly perfect.

“You smell nice,” the prince says, “like honey.”

The hands around him loosen and trail until they find his own and then Hyungu is being led to the bed. Yonghoon’s hand pushes him to sit on the mattress, gently handling Hyungu to lay on the bed, inching him to center of it, until his head hits one of pillows and the robes part between his legs, exposing the skin of his thighs.

He watches as the prince pushes the robe off his shoulders, the heavy material dropping and suddenly Hyungu is looking at the naked man. 

His skin stretches in hills and plains of tanned skin, littered with the odd birthmark, populated by silver lines of scarring tissue.

Hyungu’s heart starts to beat rapidly, his breath caught in his throat when his eyes keep looking. As the prince climbs after him, draping his body over Hyungu’s own. A hand goes to his hair, runs through it, tucks strands behind Hyungu’s ears, holding at the ends of Hyungu’s growing hair.

“Soft,” he says, tugging gently at Hyungu’s hair, other hand going to cup Hyungu’s cheek, thumb pressing against his lips.

The prince stares at him, thumb pressing down, dragging his bottom lip with it. Hyungu feels warm, eyes flitting behind the prince, where he knows people are watching them, watching the prince lay down with him.

A warm hand goes back to cradle his cheek, tilting Hyungu’s head until his eyes have to look away from the people hidden behind them, meet Yonghoon’s eyes instead.

“Are they more interesting than me?” the prince asks, eyes fierce, glinting with the fire still burning in the room.

His stare is unwavering and Hyungu has to close his eyes to escape. He holds his breath when Yonghoon presses soft kisses to his eyelids, one after another, then another back to Hyungu’s lips. 

It catches him off guard, breath leaving him in a surprised gasp, a hiccup when Yonghoon’s tongue meets his. It’s hot and wet and Hyungu doesn’t really know what to do but let the prince kiss him, tongue twisting against his own, running over the roof as his mouth.

Hyungu’s cheeks heat up and it feels like the prince is trying to consume him whole, swallow Hyungu completely, mercilessly. 

They kiss for a while, until Hyungu’s heart stops stuttering and his jaw starts to ache with it, leaning into Yonghoon’s warm palm, almost forgetting that there are people in the chamber with them, until Hyungu’s fingers curl against Yonghoon’s bare shoulders. 

Yonghoon shifts over him, pulls his mouth away, their lips still touch, a buzzing feeling settling. He’s still holding on as the prince moves and then a deep red flush begins to crawl up his neck when he feels it. The hard, rigid line of Yonghoon against his thigh. It presses to the bare skin of it and he can feel how wet it is. 

He swallows nervously, fingers digging into the skin of Yonghoon’s back when the prince puts more distance between them, dropping his hips against Hyungu’s body, pressing their lower bodies together.

“You won’t look at me,” Yonghoon whispers, a conversation meant for just them two, “am I not to your liking?”

Hyungu half opens his eyes, trying to stay still, afraid of moving too much against each other.

“You are,” his breath hitches when Yonghoon’s hand drops to his neck, pushing under the fabric of his robe, down his collarbone, “you are very nice to look at.”

The smile the prince gives him is bright, in the glowing room it almost feels blinding.

“What part of me is nice to look at,” Yonghoon asks quietly, pulls away to stand on his knees, Hyungu’s hands fall away from him. 

Hyungu is made acutely aware at how bare the prince is and his eyes struggle not to look at the prince’s body, the lithe lines of him, the cut against golden skin where muscles rest.

“There-there are others here,” Hyungu says stupidly and Yonghoon looks at him for a second.

“But I am only here for you,” Yonghoon answers him, and it’s so earnest, so sincere, Hyungu has to look away, turns his head to the side, eyes once again wander where sheer curtains hide people away from him.

“Are you truly mine?” the prince’s voice is low, quiet.

Hyungu knows he is, even if he didn’t want to be, he was the prince’s.

“Yes,” he says, his hands coming between to reach the string keeping him modest. Shaky fingers struggling to untie his robes.

Yonghoon’s hand drops heavy over his, pushes them aside before they find themselves under the delicate fabric.

“I don’t want them to see you,” Yonghoon says, fingers curling, nails scraping over the soft skin of Hyungu’s belly, “you are not theirs.”

The _you’re mine_ is left unspoken but it hangs heavy between them and it’s all Hyungu can think about before his body bends into itself, body curling, hips twitching on their own when a hand wraps around his length. 

He nearly chokes when his brain comes back to coherent thoughts and he realizes that it’s the prince, _Prince Jin Yonghoon_ touching him boldly, so easily, between his legs.

He feels like he might die, when Yonghoon’s large hand tightens around him and gives him a slow tug, from the root of him to the tip and then back down again.

“Is this good?” he asks Hyungu and Hyungu doesn’t know. His throat makes a funny gurgling sound when the Prince keeps touching him, tugging him ever so gently, until he’s hard, until the slide becomes fast, slick, noisy. 

Hyungu manages to look between them, where they meet and is embarrassed to see how hard he is, red and wet, pearly beads of pre-come trickling down the prince’s fingers, knuckles.

The prince doesn’t stop and it begins to build something hot inside Hyungu, fists curling where they hover awkwardly between them, hips jumping, hitching up to greedily meet the prince’s hand.

 _It feels good_ , his brain decides belatedly. He opens his mouth to say as much but when he does all he can get out is a whine, it sounds needy and drawn out and he regrets it immediately, eyes once again looking past the prince and into the curtains.

This does not go unnoticed by the prince, who takes a moment to slow his pace torturously slow, thumb digging into the slit of Hyungu’s cock, palm cupping over it, swiveling almost meanly, asking for attention, _pay attention to me_.

“ _Ah_ ,” Hyungu complains, eyes closing, feet dragging up the bed, knees rising. His robes fall against his thighs, lower half completely presented to the prince and that seems to do _something_ , pace once again quickening, pumping Hyungu until he feels something fuzzy in his lower belly, a tight, hot feeling. His breathing is beginning to grow labored, and his mouth only seems to be able to whimper, little mewls that make his cheeks paint pink. He’s not sure what he’s waiting to happen, like he’s close to something but he can’t figure out just what.

There’s movements, his eyes are closed, screwed shut, but he feels the prince move, his hand keeps stroking him before it’s gone. A split second and then overwhelming heat. It’s wet and hot and then there’s hands holding on to his, guiding them down until they touch the softness of curls, fingers curling over strands of hair and Hyungu’s heart does a weird sinking feeling at the realization.

When he opens his eyes he’s met with the prince’s gaze and under his bangs, with his mouth currently sinking over Hyungu’s length, it feels sinful.

 _Should the prince be doing this_ , his pleasure-addled brain still thinks, hands gripping tight at the back of Yonghoon’s head, _lower himself to such an act, in front of his royal court._

He wants to pull him away, but before he does, the prince hollows his cheeks, swallows and the movement of it has Hyungu coming. He goes still, body tensing as he feels himself shoot down the prince’s throat. 

He squirms, the feeling too much but the Prince’s hands hold him down, fingers pressing into his hips, keeping him still against the bed as Hyungu’s body twitches and tries to move away. The hand on the prince’s hair pulls at the strands but it does nothing but make Yonghoon swallow, tongue running over his length.

“It hurts,” he murmurs,when the prince keeps him in his mouth for a couple of seconds more, he pulls away with a smile, pleased, as he licks his lips, the movement of it confident in some sort of unabashed showmanship. 

Hyungu covers his eyes with his arm, turns away, towards the wall where no one is looking at him.

He shifts with the movements of the prince, pulling away from him. Hyungu’s body is still warm with the lingering heat of Yonghoon’s skin pressed to his. There’s hands on his legs, skimming, caressing up his thighs, they squeeze the skin there, make Hyungu go still before they slide under him, into the fold of his knees, pushes his legs to Hyungu’s chest.

The material of his robe pools around his hips and Hyungu closes his eyes tighter when he realizes what Yonghoon must be looking at, what people must be able to see.

“Has it been uncomfortable?” the prince asks, doesn’t give Hyungu a chance to answer before his finger traces over the soft skin and then presses the flare of the plug just a bit deeper.

He gasps, a tiny, breathy sound that feels roaring in his ears, he shakes his head.

Hyungu could almost forget he was wearing it, nestled inside of him. He had barely moved today, and so it had not bothered him beside the faint feeling of pressure inside of him.

“These are my initials,” Yonghoon whispers, and it’s a statement but to Hyungu it sounds a bit like a declaration of possession, a warning for the others with them.

_You are mine._

Hyungu clenches when he feels it moving, dragging as Yonghoon pulls at it. His ears burn, breathing out when Yonghoon pushes it back in. It’s shallow, the thrusting in and out of the porcelain inside of him. It’s slow and careful and it leaves a tense feeling in the pit of Hyungu’s stomach.

“Is this enough?” Yonghoon asks, thoughtful as he keeps pushing the plug in and out of Hyungu, eyes set on Hyungu.

Hyungu doesn’t answer, _can’t answer_. He’s all too aware of how alone they aren’t and it makes him want to crawl into himself, just curl away from the others.

Yonghoon pulls the bulb completely out, carefully, drops it on the bed, until it rolls and hits the narrow line of Hyungu’s hip.

The prince shifts again, over Hyungu’s body. Hyungu opens his eyes, pulls his arm away in time to see the prince reach for the night stand, the pot of oil set there, glinting in the low light.

He watches as long fingers dip pass the lip of the pot, resurface shiny, dripping.

“You’re embarrassed,” the prince says, ducking down to kiss the ridge of Hyungu’s cheek, where he knows a flush has gathered, “they will leave soon,” Yonghoon presses a smile to his skin, mischievous, “as soon as they see us... _together_.”

Hyungu doesn’t answer, eyes instead watching the way the prince’s gaze stays on him, hand travelling between them.

He bites down, catching the inside of his cheek in a painful jolt when he feels a finger press between his legs, leaving a slick mess of oil across his thighs, the seam of one of them, the soft skin, untouched until now. Yonghoon finally touches him, where no one else has ever done before. He rubs along the rim, a faint touch before his finger pushes in. It breaches him easily, sinks into Hyungu in a fast motion. It’s not as thick as the porcelain plug had been, but it’s longer and it touches Hyungu in ways he had never really expected.

The finger moves out of him, slow, before Yonghoon thrusts in again. Hyungu makes a small sound, a hiccup of surprise. There’s a buzzing feeling settling in him, little pin pricks of electricity that seem to get his stomach churning at the feeling.

Yonghoon doesn’t say anything as he pushes a second finger in, and Hyungu starts to feel the way it’s beginning to feel like a stretch. 

Hyungu’s eyes start to get hazy, eyelids having trouble staying open when Yonghoon starts an easy rhythm, fingers leaving him and entering him in a slow, measured pace. He can feel how long they are, as they curl, stretch apart to make Hyungu even more loose. There’s a certain angle that makes his breath catch in his chest, hitting something in him so teasingly it makes him squirm, a pressure building. 

Hyungu has never felt like this before, it had been uncomfortable when he had done so hours before. It feels even more odd now. Not unpleasant or strange, more unknown, a built up that promises something Hyungu doesn’t know but wants to have.

He’s grown hard again, Hyungu realizes, eyes half closed, from Yonghoon’s measured movements, fingers inside of him, shifting, until they hit something deep in him and he gasps, a choked off breath that raises a flush from his neck to his ears. 

It’s enough for Yonghoon, who keeps his fingers there, pressing down, shifting, pulling back and hitting it again and again.

Hyungu tries to take in a breath, but the feeling of Yonghoon’s fingers, the awareness that there are people in the room with them, hearing the same slick noises between them. It’s too much. It’s an itching feeling, deep in his stomach, grazing over the skin of his palms, a slow unfurl of something enjoyable.

Yonghoon doesn’t let up and Hyungu starts to feel like it’s too much. He feels the way wetness leaks from the head of his cock, once again interested, aching to be touched.

He thinks he’ll come again if the prince keeps going, selfishly pressing inside of him, dead on, rubbing inside of him, making his breath catch and break over and over again.

It’s non stop and eventually it does get to be too much, too many eyes, too much attention, too good.

“ _Oh_ ,” he whines, voice thin as he begins to squirm, tries to move away from the overwhelming feeling of Yonghoon’s long, thin fingers inside of him.

Hyungu tries to roll on to his stomach, tries to cover himself but it seems to be in vain. He feels a heavy hand grab at his hip, sliding under his clothing, fingertips burning touches onto the skin. Yonghoon easily turns him around, drags him back closer to him, fingers still inside Hyungu.

“Stay with me,” Yonghoon murmurs, his fingers picking up speed, abandoning their leisurely pace. 

Somewhere between the noises, Hyungu’s heavy breathing into the crook of his elbow, the prince pushes in a third finger and it feels incredibly tight. It’s enough of a stretch that it hurts a little and when they hit the spot inside of him Hyungu comes again. Thick white spurts of come shooting hot onto his stomach, dripping down his cock, darkening the fabric of his rope.

His mind goes hazy, breath stuttering, hips twitching as he keeps going, untouched, fingers in him still pressing against him. The insisting rubbing makes his thighs lock up, and just when he thinks he can finally move, another spurt comes, until he’s embarrassed, legs shaking, thighs trembling.

“Y-Yonghoon,” he stammers, can’t look at him, “ _too much_.”

He gets a kiss to his jaw as a response, a quiet little murmur, “Sorry,” he says, finally pulls his fingers out, drops himself over Hyungu’s messy body, uncaring, “I’ve waited a really long time for this.”

Hyungu tenses at the words, then in a moment of confidence snorts, “two days is hardly a long time, your highness.”

Yonghoon takes a moment to shift, Hyungu opens one eye, sees the prince reaching for the pot of oil again, fingers graceful as they coat themselves in it.

“A year,” Yonghoon hums once his warmth settles on Hyungu again, “when you recited your poem and played some music for the court?”

Hyungu goes still when the prince’s head drops the the flare of his shoulder, nose pressing to the skin of his neck, breathing deeply, mouth fleeting as he speaks, “you smell like me,” he says and Hyungu blushes, overwhelmed with the two diverging conversations, one sided.

“A year?” he stammers, tilts his head without meaning too, just wanting to invite Yonghoon to stay there, lips and nose pressed to his skin.

“Your poem was almost as beautiful as you,” Yonghoon murmurs, Hyungu hears the slick sound of the prince’s hand spreading oil on himself, “it was fleeting,” he says, “ _destiny_.”

Hyungu doesn’t answer but Yonghoon keeps talking anyway, “even after I had left, a chance meeting with father, I thought about you.”

Hyungu holds his breath when he feels the bluntness of Yonghoon pressing to his entrance, slippery.

“Father had been pestering me to marry and settle, take over,” Yonghoon’s mouth presses, open mouthed, hot, nipping against his skin, “and finally I had someone I wanted.”

Hyungu’s stomach tenses when he feels the head of Yonghoon’s cock tease him, rubbing circles against his hole, just barely pressing in.

“I saw you whenever I happened to be around for events,” Yonghoon raises himself up, leaves Hyungu’s neck, and with his free hand grabs his chin, turns him until their gazes meet, “It took me a year to convince your father,” Yonghoon’s eyes are clear, sparkling, “just as long to collect your dowry,” he laughs, “the royal prince begging a compound owner, how funny.”  
Hyungu’s heart stills when he starts to feel it, the burning, all consuming heat of Yonghoon entering him, slow.

“I convinced him not so long ago,” Yonghoon’s voice grows thin, strained.

“Last new moon,” Hyungn breathes out, remembering his father’s abrupt announcement. The painful discoloration of his hair, the meetings with the older court ladies. When he had been pushed into the garden earlier tonight, the sky had been empty of a moon, stars shimmering.

“It’s been a long couple of days,” Yonghoon laughs again, pained, “they would not let me see you, Dongmyeong really didn’t do you justice when he told me you looked beautiful in our wedding clothes.”

And then Yonghoon is kissing him, soft but all consuming, a heat that travels through him, through his ribcage, settling like a steady thrum under his skin.

The kiss turns heady fast, tongues touching in a way Hyungu had never thought he would experience, messy and wet and desperate.

He can’t do anything but lay there and let the prince try to devour him, eat him whole, take every single little part of him for the first time, leave him forever impure.

“Ah, _ah_ ,” he whines, body reacting to the sudden intrusion, Yonghoon’s cock breaching him and easily sinking into him, a hot slide as his legs move on their own to keep Yonghoon between them, bottomed out until they connect, skin touching skin, Yonghoon deep inside of him.

Yonghoon doesn’t give him much time to brace himself, is jostled by the pull and push of Yonghoon’s first thrust, a slow, sinful drag that makes Hyungu close his eyes tight, face burn.

“Will-will they leave now?” he asks when he feels Yonghoon start to pull out again, chest heaving in anticipation.

Yonghoon thrusts back into him and the sound of their bodies meeting rings too loud, announces just what they are doing.

“Yes,” Yonghoon answers, quiet, “you’re for my eyes only now.”  
Yonghoon stays in him and Hyungu can feel fingers untying his robe, hands pushing the material away from his shoulders, clumsily pushed down until they tanged with Hyungu’s arms and he’s caught.

Hyungu is only allowed one breath before the prince starts a new pace, hips snapping so powerfully, so desperate, so needy, into him. He can’t hold onto anything, arms bound, back dragging against the bed clothes, pulling them with the force of the prince’s thrusts. The feeling starts to build up again, the deep itching feeling that makes him squirm, try to move away from the feeling. _It’s too good_ , his brain manages feebly. He feels full and stretched at the same time, overheating from the prince’s body. When he opens his eyes the prince’s golden skin glistens with the low light, the sweat of his exertion.

“Do you like me too?” the prince asks, hips insistent, drilling into him at a pace that seems so unlike someone like Yonghoon. Animalistic, chasing, carnal. How would the court had felt seeing their prince like this? So lost in the feeling of Hyungu that such a title would mean nothing, reduced to a man somehow seduced by the likes of him. 

Would they look at him differently now? Having seen the prince display himself so shamelessly, almost as if asking for attention, for them to see how low he would sink for Hyungu?

It becomes too much for him, trapped between the bed and Yonghoon, meant to stay and take every drag of Yonghoon’s cock in him, every little kiss to his neck, every electric touch of their tongues meeting clumsily, hungry.

It’s a good feeling, Hyungu’s foggy brain supplies him again, it feels good and he likes it but it’s too much and when he tries to move away, from the intense feeling of Yonghoon claiming him, pushing in and out of him, it only makes it worse. Yonghoon’s hands spread his legs wider apart, stretching him open until it feels like he’ll be teared apart. 

He realizes he’s crying, little tiny sobs of pleasure that make his ears burn and his heart ache, skin feeling too tight as Yonghoon just keeps going, fingers gripping his thighs, digging bruises in their wake. His arms ache from behind him, from the way Yonghoon uses him so thoroughly.

The sounds of them are loud, the collision of their bodies, skin on skin, Hyungu’s tiny cries, mewls, shuddering breaths, gasps punched out him as Yonghoon’s own breath grows ragged alongside the sound of how slick it is between them. 

It’s wet and loud and so full. The velvet slide of Yonghoon inside of him, hitting something inside of him, sending tendrils of pleasure, euphoric, as his own cock starts to grow hard yet again.

It doesn’t take much for him to come again, a weaker stream of come shooting between their stomachs, milky white against Yonghoon’s tanned skin.

He clenches through his orgasm and it makes Yonghoon nearly fall over, arms giving away. It must hurt, Hyungu thinks, but Yonghoon still manages to fuck him through the feeling, until he feels Yonghoon twitch inside of him and then the thick burst as he comes inside of him. It hits him hard and makes him shiver through waves of post orgasm, little waves of oversensitive pleasure as Yonghoon comes in him, nonstop.

The prince falls on him fully, once again landing on Hyungu’s mess, heavy and hot, skin sticking together, still in him.

“You’re really soft,” the prince mumbles, “and now you smell even more like me.”  
“Is that bad?” Hyungu asks after a couple of seconds, trying not to move, Yonghoon still inside him.

“No,” Yonghoon says, as if thinking, “now you’re completely mine. You don’t mind, right?”  
Hyungu doesn’t answer, instead brings attention to his arms, still stuck with the fabric. Yonghoon pulls out of him, it makes Hyungu wince at the feeling, then flush as he feels himself leak from where Yonghoon has come in him.

Gentle arms reach for his and untangle him. When he moves them they burn from the bend, sore.

“You did wait an awful long time,” Hyungu finally answers, shy, “I suppose I could be yours, if you’d really like.”

Yonghoon laughs, it’s quiet, just for Hyungu. 

He kisses him, soft, unhurried, a reverent touch of lips, hand cupping the back of Hyungu’s neck.

“Let’s get you clean,” he says when he pulls away, “it’s late, and we have so much more to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> um this wasnt supposed to be 10k+ im sorry lol literally only written because of that one time they kept calling him prince jin
> 
> also I remade my twitter because it got d worded so you can come talk to me about this fic or other fics [here](https://twitter.com/euphoricIands) or on my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/euphoriclands)


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